


Rules

by nox_candida



Series: Rules [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nox_candida/pseuds/nox_candida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock discovers, much to his surprise, that John's a possessive boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Правила](https://archiveofourown.org/works/388906) by [bonaqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaqua/pseuds/bonaqua)



> Written ages ago for a prompt on the kinkmeme. Just thought I'd post this over here.

The first warning that Sherlock received that he’d have to re-evaluate what a relationship with John would entail—and John’s personality in general—occurred at the first crime scene they were summoned to as a couple. They hadn’t even had proper sex yet—unheard of for Sherlock, who usually went to bed with someone first and then engaged in vaguely couple-like activities afterward if he were still interested—but Sherlock had long ago conceded that John was _different_.

The crime itself was inconsequential and not particularly interesting. Sherlock had no idea why Lestrade had summoned him, as it was clearly a rather pedestrian revenge killing. Hardly worth his time, except that the killer had done the killing in exchange for a murder that he’d wanted done. John had mumbled something about Hitchcock, but the reference had completely passed Sherlock by. Lestrade had seemed vaguely amused, though.

Sherlock had been consulting with the DI over the body when he’d glanced up and noticed that John was staring at them closely, a hard set to his jaw and his eyes. Sherlock had never seen that particular look on John’s face and something about it made him shiver and his hair stand on end.

He was about to ask John to come closer and confirm the cause of death when Lestrade drew his attention with a hand on his arm and a question about some piece of evidence in the bedroom. Sherlock turned towards him to answer, but not before he saw a twitch around John’s eye. He was, quite frankly, baffled. He’d never known John to be jumpy or irritated in quite so ominous a way; while he could be obtuse when it came to subtle emotional clues, he’d have to be truly slow not to realise that there was a tension in the air centred on John and zeroed in on Lestrade’s hand resting on his arm.

Sherlock had, obviously, been aware of the fact that Lestrade was attracted to him—Lestrade had made no secret of it—and there had been times, before he’d met John, when he’d been tempted to seduce the man simply to see what would happen. He had, of course, shelved that idea as soon as he’d become aware of how attracted he was to John and had completely given it up the moment John had kissed him.

So while he was in no way interested in an actual physical encounter with the DI, he wondered if John had noticed Lestrade’s attraction to him and was reacting negatively to it. It was merely a theory, but it seemed to fit the evidence at hand. It would, naturally, require some testing to either prove or disprove it.

To this end, he bent his head closer to Lestrade’s and murmured his answer quietly, which produced a barely perceptible shiver in Lestrade and made John stand up straighter and narrow his eyes.

Well. That was _interesting_ —certainly more interesting than the case at hand. Further testing was necessary to valid the hypothesis.

Without looking John’s way—but still keeping him within sight via the mirror over the fireplace—he sent a slow smirk Lestrade’s way, lowered his lashes so that he was looking at the man from under them, and allowed his shoulder to rub against Lestrade’s.

In the mirror, he could see that John was positively glaring and his hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white. The idea that John could actually be jealous was wholly unexpected to Sherlock, but it didn’t stop a curious hot-cold sensation from prickling at the nape of his neck. He shivered and his skin felt tight and itchy. It was all he could do not to fidget where he stood.

At that moment, Lestrade leaned close to him and asked, in a low and gravelly voice, if he had time to go back to Scotland Yard to fill out the paperwork.

He was on the verge of saying of course not, how dreadfully dull, when he saw John push determinedly away from the wall and walk over to him, standing close enough that Sherlock could feel the heat from John’s chest through his shirt.

“Sherlock,” he said neutrally, though Sherlock could detect an enormous amount of restraint. He shivered.

“Yes, John?”

“I need to discuss something with you. _Privately_ ,” he finished, with a significant tone and—if Sherlock was any judge—almost fierce look. John didn’t wait for Sherlock to respond, merely grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. Although they were alone, the kitchen was closely connected to the sitting room they’d just left.

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was surprised when John pushed him hard against the refrigerator and gripped his shoulders tightly. He gulped. He’d never been afraid of John—though he was aware that John kept himself in shape and could, when the situation called for it, be dangerous—but his heart pounded against his ribs and his breath caught in his throat at the tightly controlled anger on his lover’s face.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Sherlock?” John hissed fiercely, but quietly.

Sherlock blinked and adopted an innocent expression, ready to deny that he knew what John was referring to, but apparently John knew him well enough to know better.

“Don’t. Don’t even think about,” he commanded, in a voice that no doubt served him well in the military. Sherlock’s thoughts ground to a halt at the sound of that voice and his tongue was suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“John…”

John wrapped one hand in Sherlock’s hair and tugged his face down so they could look each other in the eye. His eyes watered at the pain, but his heart was hammering in his chest, his thoughts scattered and racing in a way they’d never done before.

“If this is going to work,” John said, still in that hard, commanding tone of voice that seemed designed specifically to short-circuit his vocal chords, “then we need to set up some rules. The first rule,” he tugged firmly on Sherlock’s hair, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin under Sherlock’s jaw, “is that I don’t share. Ever.”

Without warning, John sucked _hard_ on his neck, just to the side of his Adam’s apple. Sherlock’s legs liquefied and his body started sliding down the refrigerator he was propped against. John moved in close and used his hips to keep Sherlock upright, pinning him in place. He groaned in response and his breathing sped up so that he sounded as though he’d just chased a criminal from one side of London to the other.

Sherlock grasped desperately onto John’s shoulder with one hand to hold himself steady when John started a slow grind against him. He tried to insinuate his other hand between their bodies because he wanted to _feel_ , damn it, but John used his free hand to grip his wrist and held it against the refrigerator.

John shifted his hips again and Sherlock writhed against him.

“Stop,” John demanded and Sherlock nearly choked on his inhaled gasp. He was being driven out of his mind by the slow grind of John’s hips and he desperately wanted to get the proper leverage so he could move, but he couldn’t. John had him trapped and that thought was making him dizzy.

“Next rule,” John grit out from between his teeth, “is that you’re mine and if someone so much as _looks_ at you, then I’ll just have to do something to make sure they know you’re mine.” He bit down lightly on the spot he’d been sucking and Sherlock nearly cried out, his breath coming harshly in gasps. “Even if we’re in public.”

John’s hand left his hair and moved down his arm and torso to his hip, then slid around behind him and groped his arse. Sherlock’s body, without any input from what was left of his mind, jerked. His cock rubbed deliciously against John’s and he made a noise that he’d never made before in his life and was untranslatable. John, though, seemed to understand.

“Won’t matter if you’re on a case, or if we’re in front of your brother, or _Lestrade_ ,” said as though it were a swear word, “or the police. You’re mine and that’s that,” he twisted his hips in a sharp, almost vicious movement, and Sherlock’s vision whited for a brief moment. He was almost there, God, just like that, one more time and he could…

He could feel heat pooling between his legs, tingles at the base of his spine and it was there, hovering, just out of reach. He whined in frustration and need.

“Last rule,” John ground out, sounding nearly out of his mind but clearly in better control than Sherlock was. “If you think,” he said fiercely, right into Sherlock’s ear, “that you can play around like you just did, you’d better think again because I _will_ punish you.”

Sherlock gasped and his body vibrated with need, because just the thought of it…

“John,” he gasped, “ _please_ …”

“And I don’t mean in the good way,” he added harshly. “You pull a stunt like that and I’ll never touch you again. Do you understand me?”

He was almost there, God, he was so close….

“Yes, oh God, yes,” Sherlock moaned quietly, his hips grinding frantically against John’s.

John groaned and grabbed Sherlock’s arse with both hands, thrust determinedly once, twice against him and bit down hard on his neck. Every muscle in Sherlock’s body went taut and he came hard, his entire body shuddering in time with his release.

He felt boneless, as if he were floating and drifting, and he was dimly aware of John panting against his neck as he came a few seconds later.

They stayed pressed together like that for another minute before John pulled away and hauled Sherlock up into something that vaguely resembled standing. John’s eyes roved over Sherlock’s face, his hair, and lingered on his neck before he gave one sharp nod.

“Now,” he said quietly, reaching out a finger and tracing the mark he’d left high on Sherlock’s neck, where it absolutely could not be mistaken for anything else, “I think we’re done here. Tell Lestrade that he can text if he needs anything else.”

Sherlock nodded, still dazed, and then the hard look melted from John’s face, replaced by a softer, affectionate look. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock slowly, sweetly. “Come on,” he said and tugged on Sherlock’s hand.

Blinking, feeling as though his mind had been slowed—it was not, surprisingly, an unpleasant feeling—he led the way out of the kitchen and cleared his throat calmly. He didn’t feel like himself at all, but he knew he could function long enough for them to leave the crime scene and make it back home.

He saw Lestrade look over at him, saw his eyes widen in shock as they roamed over Sherlock’s face and hair, and lingered over Sherlock’s neck. The evidence of what he and John had been up to was unmistakable, even for the DI. Sherlock could feel the mark that John had left on his neck, as if John had taken a branding iron to him. And just the thought of that made him shiver, because having the tangible evidence of John _owning_ him…

Sherlock cleared his throat, but managed to keep his voice relatively steady. “We’re leaving,” he said, heading in the direction of the door. He could practically _feel_ John’s self-satisfaction emanating from him as he kept pace with Sherlock. 

“If you need anything else, text me,” he threw over his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt John’s hand rest possessively on the small of his back. Short, strong fingers brushed over the top of his arse and he gulped reflexively. Sherlock glanced over to John in time to see the man look over his shoulder in Lestrade’s direction. From this angle, he couldn’t see John’s face, but he could see that Lestrade’s jaw was tense and his lips set in a grim line.

As they left the crime scene to find a cab to take them home, Sherlock looked over at John and raised an eyebrow. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“When you mentioned rules,” Sherlock began, weighing his words carefully, “you didn’t give me a chance to make any.”

John grinned, sharp and promising. “Well, you’re a genius and there’s a cab ride home to think during.”

Sherlock shivered again, but grinned in response and determinedly hailed a cab.


End file.
